


So Darkness I Became

by SALJStella



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, don't read unless you can handle actual serious fucked up murder husbandry, hannibal is so fucked up, will is not much better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SALJStella/pseuds/SALJStella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hannibal is flirting. Not in the disinterested way he does when he tries to set someone at ease to strike at them later; there’s the genuine glint in his eyes. It certainly doesn’t rule out the possibility that the other man is going to die soon, but certainly does mean Hannibal wants him." </p><p>Will finds Hannibal in Florence, right when Hannibal has caught the eye of someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Darkness I Became

**Author's Note:**

> And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat  
> I tried to find the sound  
> But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,  
> So darkness I became

Will has always considered his mind to be reparable from any damage. He’s more careful with his physical body; the uncomfortable tug in his shoulder where that convenience store robber’s pocket knife entered all those years ago reminds him that it is disposable, it will crumble and ache and disappoint. His mentality is like silly putty, for psychopaths and murderers to play with, squish and pull beyond recognition. He’ll put it back together. He’ll restore whatever is left and try to keep it for himself, usually in vain.

But he sees Hannibal from across the street in Florence, wearing his version of casual with the linen suit and the popped top shirt button, and he knows. There is no repairing this. Whatever part of his brain is Hannibal’s is going to stay his.

Whatever part of his humanity died on that kitchen floor next to Abigail, is going to stay dead.

Will can’t bring himself to move. He’s imagined this moment a thousand times, and now he’s here, and he just wants to look. No, not look. What is it that he wants to do?

He wants to stay here. He doesn’t want to talk to Hannibal. Why doesn’t he? What is there left to ruin? Is there any possible way to fuck them up anymore than they already have?

Hannibal is talking to someone. Will dares to take a few step closer, half-crouching behind a parked car. Hannibal and his company are leaning against the wall; the other man is smoking. Hannibal is smiling. Even a good thirty feet away, Will recognizes that smile. Hannibal is flirting.

Not in the disinterested way he does when he tries to set someone at ease to strike at them later; there’s the genuine glint in his eyes. It certainly doesn’t rule out the possibility that the other man is going to die soon, but certainly does mean Hannibal wants him.

Will feels his jaw clenching uncomfortably as he forces himself to straighten up and look away. This is not why you came here, he tells himself. That is not what this is about.

He’s going to stay here until Hannibal walks somewhere where he can follow. There, he’ll have plenty of time to confront Hannibal about a few more important things than whatever stupid flings he’s had since he left.

\-----

The party won’t break up until the early morning. He’s grateful that Hannibal leaves much sooner than that. Will almost misses him because of the leather jacket covering his suit when Hannibal walks out onto the street, and his heart sinks when he sees Hannibal straddling an absolute monster of a motorcycle parked by the sidewalk.

If Hannibal rides off on that, Will is going to lose him. He doesn’t know why he made the assumption that Hannibal would’ve gotten here by foot, but either way, he doesn’t have time to reflect, because in blind panic, Will strides across the street. There’s no plan in mind, if there ever was one, and there he is, again. Standing in front of Hannibal.

Hannibal is putting the key in the ignition. The moment after he’s jerked his head up and before he slowly turns to look at Will is probably the longest Will is ever going to endure. Hannibal blinks, there’s another really long moment during which Will realizes that he’s not the only one who’s feeblest attempt at a plan is tossed out the window at the sight of the other.

“I have imagined this moment so many times,” Hannibal then says. “But I must admit, in none of those scenarios did you voluntarily visit a party with the curators and lecturers of the Palazzo Vecchio.”

As if that’s what makes the situation bizarre. Will wants to say something back, but his throat is strung shut and burning, blood roaring in his ears.

“I didn’t imagine you in a leather jacket,” he finally presses out.

Hannibal smiles warmly. Will can’t bring himself to meet his eyes, so ashamed of his overwhelm, so absolutely _starved_ for this sight that he can’t fully look away either, his eyes bouncing off and on Hannibal’s face. Oh god. Hannibal. Hannibal.

Hannibal sees Will hurting. Of course he does, he always looks out for it, ready to lap it up like honey. He reaches out, stroking his palm over Will’s cheek, and Will is just thankful that he doesn’t start crying like a baby and bury his face in that stupid fucking jacket.

“Come,” Hannibal murmurs. “It’s not far to my apartment.”

Will gets up on the bike, wraps his arms around Hannibal’s waist. The solidity of his ribs under Will’s arms. It feels comforting, even though it shouldn’t. He can’t think of a single time he initiated physical touch in their old life.

They ride off. Will doesn’t think much about how he nuzzles into Hannibal’s shoulder, but if he did, he’d tell himself it was to shield his face from the wind.

Hannibal pulls over on one of the smaller streets a few minutes later. When they step inside, the apartment is no less than what Will would expect Hannibal to pick as a hiding spot; extravagant but somber. All the gold and mahogany and dark red makes him feel the twang of resentment he used to feel when he stepped into Hannibal’s office. Certain aspects of childhood poverty doesn’t go away even when he makes his own paychecks.

Will finds himself staring at the dining room table. Somehow it’s the memory of the dinners in Hannibal’s old house, chewing through Randal Tier and being so horrifyingly okay with it, that brings him back to why he came here. He turns around. Hannibal is folding his suit jacket over the back of a chair, like he’s expecting a fight.

Will is not sure what he’s expecting. He looks around. It’s too quiet.

“Where’s Bedelia du Maurier?”

“On a flight back to America, I would presume,” Hannibal says, unnecessarily straightening his cuffs. “You shouldn’t be surprised,” he adds when he sees Will’s expression. “She is a brilliant person. It was only a matter of time before she realized that the personal risk of staying with me certainly outweighed the benefits.”

Will can’t help but smiling, but if any of the rage he’s finally feeling is coming through, it should be enough to make Hannibal realize that he’s at personal risk, too.

“Better late than never,” Will spits and turns to face him fully. “I guess she’s not in a bigger personal risk than I was, though, or she’d be bleeding out at your feet by now.”

Hannibal takes a step closer. There’s one of those micro-smiles on his face, but his eyes are cold. Will feels his pent up hurt as if it were his own (it probably is)

“I would much rather kill her than you, Will. Though I never really saw it as a competition.”

“I wouldn’t care if you killed me. That’d be a bigger punishment towards you than to me, anyway.”

Hannibal’s smile widens minutely. Probably due to the tears Will feels rising in his eyes, and he’s furious with himself. This didn’t turn out like he wanted it to. Nothing ever does.

“I was going to give her to you,” Hannibal says. He somehow wound up even closer to Will, his words little more than a murmur. “I was going to give you a life. A family.”

Will shakes his head.

“It wouldn’t have worked.”

“It would’ve worked beautifully. You threw it away.”

Will shakes his head, violently now. Hannibal is inches away from him. Will can see the pricks of stubble on his neck.

“You wanted me because you thought I was like you,” he says. “You saw a reflection, and you killed me because… I was not that. I’m not you, and that’s the only way that you’ll have me.”

Hannibal cocks his head. Will recognizes it from their therapy sessions, all those times Hannibal was even deeper under his skin than either of them knew of, and suddenly, lust hits him like a speeding train.

“You found me a lot quicker than I thought you would,” Hannibal says quietly. “Finding bad fish always requires one to step into bad waters.”

Will swallows.

“How deep into those waters did you tread, Will?” Hannibal goes on. “What did you do to find me before other fishermen?”

Will finds himself completely unable to break eye contact, despite how badly he wants to. He doesn’t want Hannibal to see but also knows he can’t shut him out, he can’t because he doesn’t want to, Hannibal is moving beneath his skin again and he’s missed it so. It’s like the first drag after you’ve stopped smoking, reuniting with the darkness, and he wants it too much.

“I got one of Mason Verger’s men to tell me where they’d traced you to,” Will presses out. “I knew they were headed to the party tonight. Before I went to you, I killed them both.”

Hannibal’s smile grows, there’s not a trace of resentment left. He’s so close, if he moves any further they’re going to touch. Will is certain that Hannibal feels his heart beating. Can probably smell the arousal on his skin.

“How did you do it?”

“I stabbed the first one in the eye,” Will says. “The other one, I strangled. I heard his windpipe crumble beneath my hands.”

Hannibal puts a hand on his cheek again. They’re flush against each other, Hannibal is so warm, the smell of his aftershave. It’s the same as before, Will has to close his eyes.

“You killed them,” Hannibal murmurs, pulls Will a little close by the curls on his neck. “So that you could have me to yourself.”

Will turns his head up, facing him. When Hannibal speaks again, he feels it against his lips.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” Will breathes.

The word can barely leave his lips before Hannibal kisses him, both hands on his face, and Will opens his mouth, grappling for handfuls of Hannibal’s shirt.

Hannibal tastes of red wine and hunger, he strokes Will’s face and neck like he’s handling something precious and _his._ Will is certain that the reason he feels like they’re been heading for this the whole time is because that’s what Hannibal feels. How he must’ve waited, must’ve wanted.

Then, when Will stands up on his toes to bridge the inch or so of height difference, there are three sharp knocks on the door. He barely registers it until Hannibal backs away, still in Will’s space, breathing each other’s air, Will’s quite obvious erection pushing into his hip.

“Expecting someone?” Will asks softly.

“Maybe,” Hannibal says.

He lets Will go and gets the door, leaving Will dull and hot and trembling. He hears faint voices from the hall, Hannibal’s low key politeness and another voice. Louder and, Will notices, slightly slurred.

“How good of you to stop by, Anthony,” Hannibal says. “Please, come in. You’re just in time to join us for a night cap.”

“That sounds wonderful,” the other man says, as he enters the dining room with Hannibal in tow.

Will wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for the way Hannibal looks at him, but he’s sure, even though he barely made out his face when he saw him from across the street. Anthony is the man Hannibal was talking to outside the party, the one standing too close and the one Hannibal looked at _that way,_ andnow he’s come to Hannibal’s apartment in the middle of the night, tipsy, pliant, and making a show out of taking his jacket off and draping it across one of the chairs.

Will should be angry. He was furious for a brief couple of seconds before he notices Anthony’s curly hair, his stubble, the dark, plaid pattern on his shirt, and then he’s just bitterly satisfied. Oh Hannibal. So little to hide it.

“Hello,” Anthony says and extends his hand to Will, seemingly unfazed by his presence. “Anthony Dimmond.”

Will shakes his hand sternly.

“This is Will Graham,” Hannibal says as he walks past them. “He’s a dear friend from back home.”

He does very little to contain his enjoyment. Will realizes that no matter what they do tonight, it’s going to be on Hannibal’s command. No matter what he likes to tell himself. And it’s going to be one of those trains on the rail that solely exist for Hannibal’s amusement.

“Wonderful,” Dimmond says and smiles crookedly at Will. “And what brings you all the way to Florence, Mr. Graham? It wasn’t to attend that dreadful party we visited tonight, I hope.”

Will smiles in a way that hopefully conveys nothing but rage.

“Doctor Lecter and I had some unfinished business,” he says.

Dimmond accepts the bourbon Hannibal hands him and turns back to Will. Even without the empathy disorder, Will would be able to read the look he gives over the rim of the glass.

He sees why Hannibal likes Dimmond. He’s handsome, charming though very aware of it, intelligent enough. Certainly enough to keep Hannibal’s attention for one night, but not more than that. Will knows this, so it’s annoying how desperately he has to remind himself of it.

“I certainly hope you’ve finished that business to your mutual satisfaction,” Dimmond says. 

“Not exactly,” Will says and takes the glass offered to him, “but it’s nothing that more alcohol and debauchery won’t solve, is it, Hannibal?”

Hannibal smiles gleefully and raises his glass. Will cheers back. Dimmond looks back and forth between them with confusion and poorly hidden arousal, the alcohol has already worn down his inhibitions. That must’ve been part of the plan, mustn’t it?

They go to the study, Hannibal leading Dimmond there with a barely-present hand on the small of his back. It transfixes Will’s gaze all while he’s feeling Hannibal’s taste still on his tongue, so he downs his scotch in one go and then pours himself another one.

Hannibal and Dimmond carry out most of the conversation once they sit down, Will only speaks up when he’s spoken to or when he sees an opportunity to take a jab at Hannibal’s ego. He feels the mugginess of Dimmond’s eyes, dragging up and down his body on a loop, but Hannibal keeps his gaze firmly on Dimmond, with the same scrutiny.

Will takes a gulp from his third whiskey. He hates him.

“Wow, Mr. Graham,” Dimmond says with a wry smile when Will swirls the slim remains of his drink in his glass. “You weren’t kidding with the alcohol and debauchery.”

Will rolls the glass between his hands. The booze is heating his face uncomfortably, there’s moisture under his collar. He’d tried to doll himself up before he went to see Hannibal because he knew Hannibal would appreciate the effort _(and you want him to think you’re pretty),_ but at this point, he must’ve sweat out his cologne and he probably looks like hell. Dimmond still looks like a fucking Ken doll, but that might be because Will is seeing him through a mist of intoxication.

“I figured I’d keep up the alcohol part of it,” Will says.

Even he hears how petty he sounds. Dimmond’s smile widens.

“Oh, don’t be that way. I’m sure we can include you in any debauchery that might take place.”

Will looks at him. Dimmond turns to Hannibal. Hannibal smiles back at him, but again, it’s not the smile he gives Will, and Will badly wants to believe that is one of genuine affection.

No matter how genuine this smile is, though, Dimmond is still the one to whom Hannibal leans forward and kisses, a fluent and completely relaxed motion. Dimmond’s eyes flutter open, wide and expectant, too drunk and too willing to pretend, and putting a hand on the back of Hannibal’s neck.

Will takes another sip of his drink. Disgust is spreading through his chest but he’s absolutely unable to look away. There’s a glimpse of Dimmond’s tongue as he opens his mouth to Hannibal, and Will feels his hunger as a tacky under taste to the expensive scotch. He’s so desperate for it and Will is embarrassed for him, probably because that hunger matches his own.

Hannibal is the one who finally pulls away, Will tells himself. Dimmond’s lips are glistening and he’s still leaning into Hannibal, gaping for him and smiling slightly. His eyes are closed and so he doesn’t see Hannibal’s smile, (it’s not meant for him) the look he gives Will over Dimmond’s shoulder.

“Will?” Hannibal says softly, over Dimmond’s strained breathing.

Will is flushed. Furious with himself. Holds Hannibal’s gaze as he downs his drink before stepping up to them.

In the heat of their bodies, Will reaches for Hannibal’s lips again, but Hannibal pulls back. There’s that look in his eyes, he had it when he saw Randal Tier on his dining room table, as he turns Will around facing Dimmond. Dimmond only grins, Will doesn’t have time to contemplate before he’s kissed by someone else, with Hannibal pressing up behind him, all solid warmth and too much clothing between them.

Dimmond is a good kisser, Will actually manages to get lost in enjoyment for a second between his breathy moans and the gentle hand on his jaw. Then Hannibal has his nose in his hair, Will hears his inhale and that’s when he gets hard again, so suddenly that he’s almost dizzy from it.

Dimmond steps closer, ineffectually rubbing his erection into Will’s hip, and Hannibal puts a light hand on his waist, dipping his head and planting open-lipped kisses across Will’s neck. There’s a hint of teeth, hot, certain, and it’s so good, Will’s head lolls back onto Hannibal’s shoulder. His legs are already not the most reliable, too much booze (when did he last eat? Can’t remember), and it doesn’t take long until Dimmond’s completely given up attempts at making out and Hannibal’s pretty much supporting his entire weight.

“Bed?” Dimmond asks, breathless, not taking his eyes off Will but clearly talking to Hannibal, finally getting who is in charge in whatever the hell they’re doing.

“Don’t stop,” Will demands, begs, but Hannibal lifts his head, Will hears him lick his lips right next to his ear.

Will does manage to follow the other two to the bedroom. He notes that Hannibal’s bed is a king sized one, and wonders, in the midst of his grogginess, if he and Bedelia sleep together. Just how far they go with the husband-wife act.

Hannibal is removing his cuff links and placing them on the night stand. He doesn’t act like he’s about to have a threesome as much as go to bed after a long day.

“Tell me, Mr. Dimmond,” he says, without looking at either of them. “What would you like to do?”

Dimmond smiles, hint of teeth.

“Let me suck your cock.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Hannibal says and turns around.

He motions to Dimmond to come up to the edge of the bed, before rolling up his sleeves and starting to undress his companion.

“This is the best I can offer you,” Hannibal says as Dimmond steps out of his pants and underwear, his cock rigid and flushed.

Hannibal gently guides him down on the bed before kneeling in front of him, still fully clothed. Not a hair is out of place as he sinks his mouth over Dimmond’s erection. Dimmond curses, and Will can’t bring himself to look at his face, completely lost in Hannibal’s lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, one hand working the shaft as his cheeks are hollowing out.

Dimmond brings his hand down to Hannibal’s scalp, ruffling his hair. Will realizes his jaw is clenched so tight that it hurts his teeth. He hates Dimmond but it’s not a sliver of the hatred he feels for Hannibal, the obscene sounds as he swallows on convulse around Dimmond’s cock, taking it effortlessly as Dimmond fucks into his mouth with these little whimpers and gasps. He’s so good at it, of course he is, Will knows what that mouth is capable of. It’s a mouth that ruins lives and talks its way through brick walls that Will has built around himself and chews through human flesh like it’s nothing, and now it’s used to suck off a strange man as if Will’s not there, even though this is all for Will. An entire performance, just out of spite.

Dimmond doesn’t last long, keeping with the theme of all of them acting like fucking teenagers tonight. He moans damn near pornographically, and Hannibal swallows down. He stands up from the floor wiping cum from his chin. Will is painfully hard, and he stares a tad bit too much to pretend to be unaffected.

Hannibal steps up to him, smiling and so damn obviously pleased with himself. Will wants to taste someone else in his mouth just as much as the thought disgusts him.

“Do you still want to participate, Will?” he asks. His voice is raspy from Dimmond’s cock in his throat.

“More than you know,” Will says. “Let me fuck him.”

The thought was only half-formed when he phrased it, and he only half regrets it when he sees Hannibal’s expression drop.

Will doesn’t wait for an answer. He simply walks up to Dimmond, still panting and wrecked on the bed, and starts undressing. Hannibal stands stock still, following his every move. As much as this clearly puts him off, he seems to be as unable to look away as Will was.

Dimmond lifts his head slightly as Will chucks his boxers to the side.

“Seconds already?” he says and smiles groggily.

Will turns to the nightstand, looks in the drawer, and is actually a tad bit surprised when he finds lube and condoms inside. Maybe this isn’t the first one night stand Hannibal has had. Maybe he’s kept these things in here hoping for this, Will in his bedroom. Someday.

“Shut up,” Will says as he spreads lube over himself, coating his fingers in the process. He’s too pissed at all this to prep Dimmond as much as he probably should, but he does finger him open, making sure to glance over his prostate just because it makes him gasp and squirm and because he feels Hannibal’s eyes like drills into his temple.

Eventually, Will grabs his cock at the base and starts pushing in. He can’t hold back a groan when he feels the clenching heat around him, Dimmond clutching to his shoulders. Hannibal’s building fury doesn’t lessen this moment; if anything, Will feels it filling the room like cold mist, and it makes him even hotter. He nestles in between hitched-up knees, thrusts deeper, and delivers a sharp-toothed nip at Dimmond’s jaw just for the hell of it.

“More,” Dimmond gasps into his ear. Will feels his the hot rush in his balls already. He’d almost be embarrassed if it hadn’t been Dimmond on the receiving end of it.

In periphery, he registers a weight next to him on the mattress. Will sees Hannibal’s kneeling form hovering by Dimmond’s head, and for a second thinks that they’re kissing again. He should’ve known better. He does, the second he hears a sharp, crackling sound.

He lifts his head from Dimmond’s neck, and sees Hannibal’s hands on his face. Dimmond’s head is tipped to the side, the ghost of pleasure still on his face, and Will scrambles back on the bed. He tries not to register the slippery sound as he pulls out from the corpse under him.

Hannibal looks at Dimmond, his chest heaving _(does it take that much strength to snap someone’s neck?)_ and then looks at Will. His face is unreadable, which is something Will now knows is what Hannibal’s face does in between characters, when he’s still trying to figure out what kind of person whoever he’s talking to wants him to be. Except for now, in his most genuine monstrous form, outside the realm of what even Will can understand.

If I’d show this image to Pazzi right now, Will thinks, he wouldn’t be disappointed. This is the Monster of Florence. This is even worse than you’ll imagine even after chasing something for twenty years.

Hannibal stands up from the bed. Will keeps his eyes on him so he won’t have to think of the dead person on the bed next to him. They simply stare at each other, until Hannibal holds out a hand.

“Come here.”

“No.”

“I was not asking you, Will.”

Will stands up, takes his hand. That’s probably symbolic in some way, but Will forgets about all of that when Hannibal pulls him closer and he feels that his erection has not subsided in any way.

Hannibal kisses him, one hand on his jaw and the other still tight around his wrist, Will could drown in this, still trembling with shock from the sharp crack of Dimmond’s bones, but it’s Hannibal, and his teeth are digging too hard into Will’s bottom lip, draw blood, and the groan Hannibal gives at the taste of it is enough to open him up completely.

Hannibal pushes him down on the carpet. Will is thankful that they’re not fucking next to the dead man on the bed, but he would’ve done it, he knows that now, he would’ve done it. Hannibal doesn’t get the lube, but instead hooks Will’s one leg over his shoulder and eats him out until Will is clawing at the carpet, wasn’t planning on begging but does, please, _please…_

Hannibal crawls up the length of his body. He’s still fully clothed, and his teeth are bared. Will isn’t even sure if he should touch him, but does reach up, tearing the suit jacket from Hannibal’s shoulders, working down to the belt buckle. Hannibal’s unyielding gaze on him as he does this indicates it is an action allowed and encouraged.

When they’re both naked, Hannibal is on him again. Will knows that Hannibal would prefer to fuck him slowly, work him down bit by bit, but neither of them are there now, and Hannibal thrusts into him, so furious and so hard that Will cries out, getting burns on his back from where he slides back and forth on the carpet.

When he comes, Hannibal bites Will right where his shoulder fades into neck. Then they lie quiet. Will feels so cold once they’ve untangled. Hannibal is right next to him, just out of touching distance, and still feels like he’s slipping away.

“You brought him here for this to happen,” Will finally says. “You wanted to make me jealous, because you wanted to see what I would do.”

“Yes,” Hannibal says after a moment’s pause.

“You can’t have this reaction every time you push me and I push back, Hannibal. It wasn’t… _his_ fault that he wound up a pawn in your fucking games.”

Hannibal props himself up on his elbow, facing Will. Will is more relieved than he cares to admit when he sees one of those smiles on his face again.

“Of course I can. You can’t say my reaction was a surprise to you, Will. You must’ve known Mr. Dimmond was at risk the second you put your hands on him.”

Will’s eyes drift to Dimmond’s legs, hanging lifeless over the edge of the bed. Hannibal’s eyes, however, are unwavering on him, and eventually, he lifts a hand, plants it on Will’s cheek.

“I must admit,” he says, slowly, as if he’s testing the words as he says them, “it had been different if you’d never let me know this. But from hereon out, I will kill every last person you touch.”

Will swallows. Feels the warmth of Hannibal’s hand and wonders, with mild panic, why this comforts him so.

He can’t say anything back to Hannibal, because the only thing he can think of is ‘I love you,’ and that would just offend him. So he snuggles closer, puts his head on Hannibal’s chest.

The alcohol is wearing off, and Will is tired. He falls asleep with Hannibal’s arms around him and the smell of death pricking at his unconsciousness.


End file.
